


The Princes: A Collection

by InkofLethe



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Family Secrets, Gen, Hermione is kind of OOC, Hermione is still a muggleborn, Platonic Soulmates, Secrets, Slytherin-ish Hermione, Technically Canon, Wizarding Politics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-13
Updated: 2017-01-09
Packaged: 2018-08-08 10:31:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7754269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InkofLethe/pseuds/InkofLethe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In 1072, Richard of Normandy gave up his claim for the English throne and faked his death, establishing himself as Richard Prince, founder of the Magical House of Prince. </p>
<p>In 1998, Severus Prince-Snape died childless but not without a hier. Unknown to most of the British magical community, Severus had a muggle sister and a magical niece. A young, powerful, muggleborn heiress for the old pureblood family.</p>
<p>Her name was Hermione Granger.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hermione

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This is more of collection of one-shots than a full story, although some are divided into multiple chapters because they’re really long (they’ll be marked as part 1, 2, etc.). 
> 
> In addition, the first five chapters make up a loose “core” story (though they still don’t have to be read together for the sake of comprehension). I will upload about once a week (more or less, I'm currently very busy with my education) and once they’re all out, the story will be marked complete. More chapters, however, will still be added on afterwards as I write and finish them.
> 
> Thank you for being my beta and dealing with my inability to deal with life, [dawnheart.](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dawnheart/pseuds/dawnheart)

“Bye, mum,” she said again, starting to become a bit impatient. 

“I’m going to miss you so very much, Sweetie.” Another hug. “Write and mirror us, okay?”

“Of course,” she promised again. Her mum finally let her go. It wasn’t that she wanted to be free of her parents. It was the fact that they had said their goodbyes for a good half hour at home, where her aunt, uncles, and cousins could join in as well. “Bye, dad.”

“Give them hell,” he whispered as she drew back. “We’ll see you again soon.”

The train whistled again. Her dad helped her up the slightly wobbly ladder, bowing dramatically once she was in. She laughed and waved, before disappearing into the carriage. 

Arriving in the compartment her dad had placed her trunk in earlier, she found another boy settled in. Another first year, she thought, judging by his awkward nervousness. “Hello, I’m Hermione.”

“Neville,” he managed before pointing awkwardly at her trunk. “There was an older student nosing around when I got here. Is your trunk charmed?”

“Yes, it gives off stinging hexes when tampered with,” she answered honestly.

“Did you do it?”

“No, I got it like that.” Her grandmother had done it, back when she was at Hogwarts and the trunk was hers. Then it had gone to her uncle and to her. But she couldn’t say that. She was suppose to be a muggleborn with no magical relations at all.

“I like it,” Neville said. “It looks like a heirloom piece. I have one too.”

Tucked under his seat, there was a trunk that was very similar to hers. She could just barely make out a crest featuring a golden, crossed wand-and-sword on the wood and ‘N. F. Longbottom’ on the latch.

“What family are you from?” he asked when she only nodded.

She expected he had already read her name plate, ‘H. J. P. Granger’, but had asked to be polite.

“Granger. But I’m a muggleborn actually. It came from an antique shop.” Her first outright lie. Didn’t take very long. “The shopkeeper said it was a Prince piece.”

The Princes, though an extremely old and prestigious family, wasn’t well known, which she was counting on.

Clearly, Neville hadn’t heard much of it by his simple nod.

“If you have any questions about the wizarding world, I’ll try to help you but my gran didn’t let me out very much. You’d probably be better off asking someone else.”

“Thank you, Neville.”

She had heard he had a crazy strict grandmother from eavesdropping on her parents and uncle’s conversations, and suspected he wouldn’t actually know much more than she did and definitely less than Uncle Sev did, but she had the feeling that Neville would be a good friend and ally, anyways. 

The horn whistled again and the train jerked into motion. Both of them leaned against the closed window to watch King’s Cross rush away, waving to their respective guardians when they passed. When they were splat into the countryside—despite how much of London was around the station—they both settled back into their seats.

“Have you…”

The door slid open suddenly and the frog Neville had been cradling jumped up and out.

“Oh, no,” Neville groaned. He shook his head and Hermione guessed it wasn’t the first time such a thing had happened.

“A frog?” the new boy said with a derisive snort. “You’re better off with it gone. You’re the Longbottom child, aren’t you?”

Neville grumbled something under his voice that she guessed was less than complimentary. She couldn’t blame him. Her uncle had warned her of Draco Malfoy already, telling her he was remarkably spoiled and blood-prejudiced.

Malfoy snickered before turning his pointy nose towards her. “Who are you?” he demanded.

Her eyebrows quirked up. Almost every family that could afford it hired specific etiquette tutors for their children; her godmother-slash-aunt, born a pureblood squib, had handled her lessons for years. Malfoy, apparently, didn’t have much to show from his own lessons.

“Hermione Granger,” she said.

“Granger,” he repeated, eyes roaming across the compartment. “I don’t believe I’ve heard of that family before. I’m Malfoy, Draco Malfoy, first heir apparent.” She internally scoffed. Who introduced themselves to fellow eleven-year-olds as first heir apparent? His eyes narrowed at her trunk, not as well hidden under the seats as Neville’s was. “That’s the Prince crest.”

The Prince crest was easily recognizable when one knew it. It was an owl wearing a crown and bright blue, unlike more common golds, silvers, and blacks.

“Yes it is.”

“My godfather is the head of the Prince family. He has no children.”

She blinked. She knew Uncle Sev wasn’t particularly close to the Malfoys anymore, though she supposed she also sort of knew he was technically one of several of Malfoy’s godfathers.

“So the Princes aren’t completely extinct then. The shopkeeper at the antique store wasn’t certain. Fascinating,” she said. She tilted her head as if she was thinking, “I suppose, if you want to tell him, I’d be willing to sell it back. I’m not sure what my parents would say, but magical family heirlooms are rather precious, aren’t they?”

What rot, she thought to herself. They hadn’t expected fuss over her trunk. Maybe she should have had Uncle Sev glamoured the crest after all, but she loved the symbol.

“Sell? Your parents? You’re a mu-muggleborn, aren’t you? What do your muggle parents have to do with anything?”

“They spent decent money on my school supplies. I can’t just give it away. In the muggle world, you’re expected to not let yourself get screwed over by anyone you meet.”

Malfoy snorted, his upper lip curling unpleasantly. “What do muggles know? For the matter, what do you? You won’t amount to anything, you silly girl. Run back to your stupid muggle parents now before you waste everyone’s time.”

She gritted her teeth. She knew it would happen and it wasn’t as if it was actually insulting.

But it was bloody annoying.

“I disagree. Now, if you don’t mind, I think we have a toad to look for,” she snapped, sliding the door shut so he had to jump back with a squeal to avoid his fingers being crushed.

The two remaining first years were silent for a while.

Hermione sighed internally. She hoped she hadn’t alienated two allies and a friend with that one action. Uncle Sev wouldn’t be impressed. Well, perhaps he’d be impressed, but not happy about it, she thought.

“Perhaps you shouldn’t be insulting every closed minded brat you meet,” Neville suggested with a tentative smile.

She laughed brightly.

“He is from a powerful family. You probably wouldn’t have heard yet, but the Malfoys do have most of wizarding Britain tied up in their control. He could ruin you, if he decides to put effort into it.”

Her delight softened into appreciation for a moment before one side of her lip quirked up. “Thank you, Neville. But he won’t ruin me. He can’t, I won’t let him. Trust me. I do know a bit about wizarding politics already.”

She knew the game better than most their age. And she had the extra advantage that they didn’t know she knew anything at all.

Neville didn’t look convinced but attempted a smile anyways. “If you’re sure.”

“Yeah. Come on, let’s look for your frog.”

 

Malfoy was gone by the time they left the compartment to look for the frog, apparently named Trevor. They poked into the compartments filled with younger students, but neither were quite daring enough to interrupt upperclassmen.

They still hadn’t found Trevor a full hour later, but they did manage to meet several other students and she didn’t think she managed to alienate all of them. Only the one compartment that was filled with obvious blood-supremacists, but that wasn’t really her fault.

Finally, Hermione was forced to temporarily abandon Neville to visit the loo, and upon exiting, found him a fair bit down the train.

“Still no Trevor, Neville?” she asked.

He sighed and shook his head.

“We’ll find him… eventually,” she offered, a bit less confident than she would have liked. “The train’s very interesting,” she continued when he only sighed again. “I read they liberated it from a group of confused muggles. Which is a bit rude, but they did technically pay for it, so I guess it wasn’t too bad.”

She kept glancing into the compartments, but the stretch they were walking through seemed to be solely upperclassmen.

“You know how that one boy—Lee or something?—had a tarantula? I don’t believe they’re on the list of approved pets. Do you know if the list is just suggested, maybe?” That was one question she had never ask her uncle, but Neville didn’t know either. She made a mental note to ask later. “Well, I’ve never been a fan of spiders. One of my little cousins likes them. I think he’s nutty.”

There were a pair of first or second years in the next compartment she checked.

“Oh, I-” Neville was cut off as she had already reached for the handle and momentum compelled her to open the door. She figured it would be rude to just leave the door cracked mysteriously and hoped Neville didn’t mind waiting a moment.

“Has anyone seen a toad? Neville’s lost one,” she said, wondering again if she shouldn’t have just said sorry, left, and allowed Neville to complete his thought.

“We’ve already told him we haven’t seen it,” the red haired one said.

Oh, perhaps Neville had been about to tell her he already asked? She cringed slightly, but noticed the boy had his wand out in the same moment.

“Are you doing magic? Let’s see it, then.”

In the back of her head, she knew she was being rude, but she couldn’t resist. She desperately wanted (and needed) to know how much magic normal children could do. Her magic was significantly stronger and better controlled than most because it was bonded with her cousin Colin’s magic, but Uncle Sev didn’t know by how much. And they couldn’t use Dennis as a reference point either, because he was nearly four years younger than her. At the age of seven, he could will his magic to manifest, but not much else.

“Err— alright. Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow. Turn this stupid, fat rat yellow.”

Her eyebrows shot up at the strange chant. It didn’t surprise her when nothing happened to the rat who was indeed rather fat.

“Are you sure that’s a real spell?” It wasn’t. Spells didn’t employ chants and rituals required more than a wand wave. The only excuse for not knowing that was being muggle-raised but the boy’s clothing indicated that wasn’t the case. “Well, it’s not very good, is it? I’ve tried a few simple spells just for practice and it’s all worked for me.” Oh, she shouldn’t have said that. Magic being completely foreign, it was rare for Muggleborns to try controlled magic before school and when they did, it was unlikely to go very well. “Nobody in my family’s magic at all, it was ever such a surprise when I got my letter, but I was ever so pleased, of course,” she rambled. “I mean it’s the very best school of witchcraft there is, I’ve heard—” Again, perhaps masquerading as a muggle-raised witch was going to be harder than she thought. “I’ve learned all our course books by heart, of course, I just hope it will be enough.” That would be a decent excuse for knowing more than she should. She really was an avid reader anyways. “I’m Hermione Granger, by the way, who are you?”

Oh dear, she said something wrong, didn’t she? Perhaps she should haven’t said anything at all, judging by their expressions. Neville seemed vaguely amused. She thought he had already realized she was a nervous rambler.

She wasn’t usually so bad, but the new environment and people made it worse. And usually, either her parents, uncle, or Colin would warn her if she was getting bad.

“I’m Ron Weasley,” the redhead muttered. She nodded. Over half the redheads she had met so far on the train were Weasleys, she thought with mild amusement. She knew that the family had a magically dominant red hair gene. An old Veela gene, probably. Magical genetics were weird but fascinating.

“Harry Potter,” the other boy said.

She tilted her head. “Are you really?” He was rather more scrawny than she thought safe and far more meek than she expected, but he did fit the basic description well enough. Messy black hair, glasses, and bright green eyes. “I’ve heard of you*, of course. I got a few extra books for background reading, and you’re in Modern Magical History and The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts and Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century.”

“Am I?”

He seemed a bit lost, and she instantly felt bad. Again. It was going awfully in every way.

“Goodness, didn’t you know? I would have found out everything I could if it was me…”

There was an awkward pause. Potter continued looking vaguely lost while Weasley seemed disgruntled. She recognized the snobbish turn of his mouth, like he was better than her because she was a nerd and he was too cool for learning. The sympathy she felt for Potter vanished under irritation for his companion.

“Do either of you know what house you’ll be in?” she started, her voice changing tones just a bit, not that they noticed. “I’ve been asking around, and I hope I’m in Gryffindor, it sounds by far the best; I hear Dumbledore himself was in it… But I suppose Ravenclaw wouldn’t be too bad… Anyways, we’d better go and look for Neville’s toad. You two had better change, you know, I expect we’ll be there soon.”

His expression soured as she left, tugging Neville with her. 

He was easy to taunt. A vast majority of Weasleys were Gryffindors, and judging by the red ribbons securing this one’s trunk, he hoped to be the same. If he didn’t like her so much, then she’d taint the thought of his oh so desired house with the thought of herself. She found family house legacy ludicrous anyways. The Princes were mostly Ravenclaw, but she had plenty of ancestors scatter across the four houses (including her Slytherin uncle). She wanted to be a Ravenclaw because she was Ravenclaw-ish, wanting any and all knowledge, not because of long-forgotten ancestors.

“I think you’ve managed to annoy another pureblood,” Neville pointed out as they walked slowly down the corridor. “Of course, Ron’s family aren’t blood-supremacists. I think my parents were friends with his actually.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry if I’m making a bad situation between you and your friend,” she said, beginning to worry her lip. “I just- He reminded me of some of my classmates who thought I was too weird and studious and nerdy.”

“It’s fine,” Neville assured her. “I haven’t seen him since we were babies actually.”

“Look, how sweet, the pureblood dunce and the mudblood upstart.”

The two of them hadn’t been paying much attention, but there was Malfoy again, this time with two rather burly boys flanking him.

“What would mummy and daddy think, hearing their oh so precious son use that kind of language? Or you etiquette tutor, for the matter,” Hermione mocked with a rather saccharine smile.

He sneered, but she saw a brief flash of apprehensious fear.

“I’m Hermione, how about you?” she asked the two silent bodyguards, schooling her expression into something slightly less vicious. Not friendly, exactly, but not unfriendly either. She had the feeling the boys were also raised as blood-supremacists and would be unlikely to ever form their own opinions, but politeness was never a bad idea when first meeting people. Any and all allies were to be considered.

Not that she had been doing that very well so far, a voice in her head sniggered.

“Wh-”

“I asked them, Malfoy. I unfortunately already know you.”

“Vincent Crabbe,” the slightly taller one said, seeming a bit nervous.

“Greg Goyle,” the more round faced one echoed.

“Pleased to meet your acquaintance, now, do you mind letting us pass?” It was a rather narrow corridor and if the two didn’t move, they would be forced to scoot awkwardly and that would never do.

Crabbe and Goyle glanced at each other then at Malfoy, who looked far less than pleased. Then the two boys shrugged and there was enough room for them to walk past.

“Thanks,” she said, smiling politely at the two surprisingly amiable boys once they were on the right side of the trio. She noted Malfoy seemed near spitting and, grinning rather cheerfully, couldn’t resist a parting shot. “Don’t frown so much, dear. You don’t want to get wrinkles, do you?”

Finding a compartment two doors down surprisingly empty, Hermione ducked in before Malfoy decided to retaliate. Neville followed, shaking his head.

“Well, you have the guts to be a Gryffindor. Is that really the house you want to be in?”

“Not really. I think Ravenclaw would be the best, I just told Weasley that because I could tell he wanted Gryffindor but had the feeling he wouldn’t want to be in classes with me. Though I don’t really mind any of the houses.”

“Maybe you’d be a good Slytherin.”

She laughed. It wasn’t a surprise. Her very Slytherin uncle had tutored her for years and both of her parents had their own ruthless streaks. She would be perfectly happy with the house of the snakes except for the large amount of blood-supremacists who’d be her housemates.

They had discuss the chance of her becoming a snake, of course, debating whether it would be safer to hide her heritage as planned or not. In the other houses, it could only attract danger and hatred, but in Slytherin, it could be protection as well. Her family didn’t reach a consensus by that morning, but she was of the opinion to keep it as a trump card.

She really was rather Slytherin.

“No, I think Ravenclaw would be much better.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I changed the dialog from Hermione's and Harry's conversation slightly because I thought the original was a bit over the top. Originally, from Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone, Chapter 6: “I know all about you, of course — I got a few extra books…”
> 
> Thanks for reading,  
> Ink of Lethe


	2. Draco 01

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first of two parts that go together.

“Draco.”

He remained silent in his seat, clutching at his mug. Chamomile tea, laced with honey, firewhiskey, and a strong calming draught.

“I trust you won’t underestimate the importance of tomorrow night, Dragon. We follow the plan—or the back up plans—and you will be safe.”

A pale hand reached across the table and pulled his hands to sit on the table. Ripples floated across the tea’s surface.

“Yes, Uncle Severus,” he whispered.

Magic, warm and reassuring, sparked where their skin almost touched His godfather had bright blue magic, so very different from what most would expect from a man so stern and distant.

“Here is the portkey I’ve arranged for you.”

Draco’s eyebrows shot up. He had thought the plan had been to apparate straight to Malfoy Manor.

“Where is it to?”

 

“London. I will meet you there and if I don’t, you’re to stay in place until someone gets you.” Uncle Severus smirked at his disbelief. “Someone will get you, Dragon. Someone will bring you to safety, I can assure that much. You will need to get out of Hogwart’s wards for a reliable trip. It’s password activated.”

He reached out for the small portkey hesitantly.

It was a galleon with a hole drilled through the top with a fine chain looped through.

“Keep it under your clothes so it is always touching you. The password is Rosemary.”

He nodded.

“Get some sleep, Draco, it’s almost curfew.”

“Thank you, Uncle Severus.”

Severus waited until he was out the door to sigh. “You may not be too thankful when you see where you land, Dragon.”

 

“Go, Draco, I will follow,” Uncle Severus hissed.

He nodded, vision shaking, and tripped over the last few feet to the outside of Hogwarts’s gates. He grasped at the coin under his robes. “Rosemary,” he gasped. The coin heated, more comforting than searing unlike that cursed mark on his arm, and he was whisked off his feet.

He hit the ground with a faint groan. Portkey landings were tricky and one of relatively few areas Uncle Severus was not well versed in.

It took him a moment to sit up and take in his surroundings and he was surprised to find himself in a park. A muggle park. It was desolated, nearly dark, and he was hidden in a sparse copse, but he felt horribly exposed nonetheless.

At least it was warm, he thought, settling so that he could lean against the large trunk of the tree behind him. He hoped Uncle Severus would come soon.

 

It was only a few minutes before Uncle Severus came. He appeared from another copse, like a shadow. When he came closer, Draco was surprised to see that his godfather was in muggle clothing. It wasn’t even all black, although they were all dark.

“Dragon?” Uncle Severus murmured as he approached Draco. Draco felt a legilimency probe brush gently against his mind. Easily recognizing his godfather’s magic, he pushed rushing memories of the past few days outward.

“Come here, little Dragon. Are you injured?”

“Not much. Where are we, Uncle?” he asked, stepping tentatively into the faint moonlight.

“Suburban London,” he replied dryly. Draco’s eyes widened. “It’s the safest place for you right now. Eventually, you will have to go back and again face the Dark Lord, but not yet, Dragon. Not yet.” A moment later, Uncle Sev had casted a spell on him without Draco even noticing him draw his wand. He yelped faintly.

His robes were transfigured so they more resembled muggle clothing.

“You can’t be walking around in robes,” Uncle Severus explained, leading him forward.

They walked through the empty park and onto the equally empty sidewalks. He felt antsy, looking at the muggle houses lining the road.

“Where are we going?” he asked finally. They had walked two blocks and turned a corner.

Uncle Severus smiled faintly. “My sister’s house.”

“Your sister?” he repeated, a faint mumble, thoughts churning until he was steered off the sidewalk and towards a house, as muggle as the rest. As he passed the property line, however, he felt wards—strong ones—tugging at his magic suspiciously but letting him pass.

Uncle Severus took a key from his pocket and let them in.

“Sev!” a female voice shouted in the same moment the door shut.

“Hello, Rose, we are fine. Scraps and bruises only. And tired. Very tired.”

A woman, slightly older than Uncle Severus, appeared at the top of the stairs. She was wrapped up in a pale pink night robe, fine silk like something his mother would wear.

He hadn’t seen his mum for too long and it looked like he wasn’t going to see her for some time longer.

“You must be Draco,” she murmured, smiling faintly. It didn’t reach her brown eyes. “How about a shower while I warm something for you? Soup, maybe? Or toast or just hot chocolate?”

“I’m sure he’d love that herb toast you’re so fond of. And a cup of juice. Full-sugar juice, Rose.”

Rose laughed. “If the potions master orders it.”

She darted forward to give Uncle Severus a light kiss on the cheek then disappeared through a door-less frame.

“You have a sister,” Draco whispered.

“Yes, Roseanne. She’s quite a bit older than me and she didn’t inherit my mother’s magic. She’s a muggle.”

Draco nodded. A muggle sister with a muggle house. He knew that Uncle Severus was a half-blood and firmly rejected blood-superiority, but he didn’t expect him to be in regular contact with actual muggles.

He began to look around. It was extraordinarily neat and clean looking. He didn’t think it was possible for a home to look so spotless without magical help. It was far nicer than he expected a muggle house to be, perhaps as nice as one of his family’s smaller properties even. There were a lot of flowers and pictures, artfully arranged. Mother would like it.

He gave a start as he looked at the pictures more closely. In almost every single family picture he could see, there was a familiar, bushy-hair girl…

It couldn’t be.

“Uncle…”

“Yes, Dragon. We will talk more once you’ve showered and had something to eat.”

He could only nod.

 

He was very surprised to see Granger’s mother chatting with a house elf in the kitchen when he came down. Uncle Severus sat at the counter, alternating between writing in a notebook and smiling at the woman and elf. He had changed and showered as well.

The promised toast, topped with a good deal of strawberry jam, and cranberry juice sat on the counter. It was good, he admitted to himself.

“Granger doesn’t like house elves,” he blurted out eventually, as Mrs. Granger and the elf laughed at something that went completely over his head.

There was a few seconds pause before, to his surprise, the elf responded.

“Mistress Hermione likes Pippa very much,” she said primly, frowning at him. “Missus Rose and Mister Leo likes Pippa too.”

He flushed slightly at the adults’ amused looks and stared at his lap.

Mistress Hermione, he thought. Mudblood Granger, who was known through the entire bloody school for her elves’ rights campaign, was a house elf master. An adored house elf master, apparently, but one nonetheless.

“Our elves are free,” Uncle Severus explained. “They’re contracted to the House of Prince but they’re allowed to leave and their punishment is highly regulated, like a human worker. Hermione has no problem with hired help, just unlawful and unethical bondage.”

Draco nodded and began sipping at the second cup of juice Mrs. Granger poured.

He should have realized the elf was free. It was dressed in a black dress and a bright blue apron, with slippers on its feet and a white ribbon tied around its neck like a necklace. He had never seen an elf dressed so strangely. 

Eventually, he finished the second cup and couldn’t ignore the burning, churning feeling building in his stomach.

“Uncle, won’t you tell me anything else?”

“Oh, Dragon. I really would have prefered to warn you earlier, but this secret is paramount. You understand I couldn’t and still can’t let you near any potential legilimens until you’re of age, don’t you?”

“Magic matures at the age of seventeen. As such, in general, an adult has significant advantage over a minor,” he recited automatically.

“Yes, and I was certain your mind would be read at least a few times this evening.”

Draco agreed. The Headmaster was gentle but obvious with his invasion. Bellatrix also skimmed his mind, rather more painfully, but not as thoroughly. Uncle Sev had done a couple checks too.

He was relatively powerful for his age, but he was no match for any of them.

“I am sorry, Draco. But now, I can tell you and will. Though first, I think we should move to somewhere a bit more comfortable. Also, do remember, no magic. Activating your trace would be disastrous.”

Uncle Severus guided him to a couch nearby. The soft, well-stuffed leather reminded of the Slytherin common room, though it was a pale, bluish grey instead of total black. Uncle Severus sat on the opposite end.

The house elf popped away with a cheery good-bye and Mrs. Granger sat in an armchair close by. She picked up a book and he was surprise to recognize its cover. It was a magical mystery series his mother was very fond of.

“I’ll let you tell the story, Sev, from your point of view,” she said.

He hummed, pensively. “Well, Rose—Roseanne—is nine years older than me and quite likely the reason our parents married. Our grandparents, like most Princes, don’t actually believe in blood purity, but they didn’t like the fact our father was working class and cut mum off. That, of course, was how I was still able to inherit the Prince Headship, but you know that. Hm, very few in the magic world know of Rose. A vast majority of those who did know her beyond a passing mention died in the last war. And most of the last few are now abroad. Coincidentally, perhaps, but I think there’s a correlation there. She’s a dental healer now, as is her husband. Leo’s already asleep, but you’ll meet him in the morning.”

Uncle Severus was silent for a long moment, staring at the unlit fireplace across the room.

“Why did you agree, Uncle? When your sister is a muggle and your niece a muggleborn?”

“I was recruited while I was doing my graduate studies in France. I had just inherited my lordship; I believe that’s why they decided to take extra interest in me. I was young, flushed with far more power than I had ever handled before, rather big-headed I’m sure. I was also a separatist at the time. I was still bitter over my mum and dad, how tumultuous their marriage was, how fearful of magic my dad eventually became. At the time, magical-technological integration was in its very rough infancy as well; didn’t look like it would ever amount to much. Besides, recruiters don’t exactly emphasize the less savory parts of being a Death Eater; they talk about power and wealth and making a difference.

It took several years and plenty of horrors for me to realize what a mistake I made. Do you understand what I’m saying, Draco?”

“You’re a spy,” he whispered.

“First for the Order,” he agreed. “I became a double agent. Then I finally got the courage to come back home after several years apart, and I became an agent for my family. Especially for my niece and nephews.”

“Nephews?”

“Not biological. Rose’s best friend is as good as her sister. They’re about your age too. Now, you need sleep, Draco, after such a day.”

“I’ll show you your room,” Rose said. She paused, hand on Uncle Severus’s shoulder so she very much looked like a sister comforting her younger brother. “Come on.”

He hadn’t looked at the upstairs much when Uncle Severus had brought him to a bathroom, or when he came back down, but there was a landing that split into five rooms. In the dim light, he could see that three of the doors were closed. One had a sign hanging on it. It probably said, “Hermione’s Room” or something equally stupid, he sneered silently.

“That’s the master room, and this one is set aside for Severus when he visits. He’s here as often as he can. And that is Hermione’s. I think she may have set up a stinging ward during winter holidays, so I’d say you won’t want to peak around.” She brought him to the open door that wasn’t to the bathroom he had used earlier. “This will be yours for however long you’re here. We weren’t sure what you’d like so we set it up like Sev’s.”

It was far smaller than his room in the Manor, but it was sufficient. There was a big bed made with deep green covers, an old looking wooden desk, and a full-length mirror in the corner. 

There was a door to what he assumed was a closet and a wide window flanked with grey and green curtains as well. His trunk, which Uncle Severus had discreetly handled that afternoon, was sitting in the corner.

“Thank you, Mrs. Granger,” he murmured, finally.

“You can call me Rose. Or Auntie if you want. Have a good night, Draco.” She smiled faintly, ghosting her hand over his shoulder before going back downstairs, the wooden floor creaking slightly.

“You too,” he whispered long after she was out of earshot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading,
> 
> Ink of Lethe


	3. Draco 02

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A continuation of Draco 01.
> 
> So I had to edit the a/n and chapter titles, so, uh, I hope it's not confusing. Sorry.

Draco woke up uneasy, heart skipping in his chest as he shoved away the covers.

A while later, after giving up on doing much more than brushing his teeth and changing without magic, he shuffled downstairs, quickly picking up the sounds of bickering.

“... It’ll be fine, Sev. Stop arguing, you’re on bedrest and Sera will come over. It’s final.”

He couldn’t make out the mumbled complaints of Uncle Severus and decided to present himself, instead of hoping they’d continue. It didn’t sound like anything else important would be said anyways.

“Hello, you must be Draco,” a voice greeted him immediately. Reading a newspaper in the dining room was a man that resembled Granger quite strongly. He had light brown hair that would clearly be curly and frizzy if it were longer and the same deeply tanned skin.

Rose looked more like Uncle Severus, with smooth dark hair and pale skin.

Both parents had light eyes, though, he realized with a jolt. Nothing like the highly memorable, dark eyes of their daughter. Her glare had always unsettled him.

They were a bit too much like Uncle Severus’s glares, actually, he thought sourly.

“Hello, Mister,” he mumbled finally.

“Leo is fine, Draco. Go ahead and sit; Kapper is serving today.”

Scrunching his eyebrows slightly, he did so and a house elf quickly came from the kitchen with a plate of eggs, toast, and a mug for the tea already set on the table.

Rose sat down a few minutes later with a mug already in her hands, followed by Uncle Severus who sat stiffly and glared grumpily at his plate.

“Is something the matter?” he asked finally.

“Sev went to your Manor last night, to give the Menace a report,” Rose muttered. Draco winced; he doubted that even the great news of Dumbledore dying would keep the Dark Lord from finding a reason to torture. No wonder she had forced Uncle Severus into bedrest. “Your mother has also been told of your whereabouts.”

“She hopes you’re as well as you can be and says she misses you,” Uncle Severus whispered.

Draco nodded and bit his lip.

“I’ve called my friend, Sera, to join you two while we’re at work as well,” Rose said after a moment. “You can call Kapper or Pippa, of course, but I don’t like leaving Sev with only house elves when he’s grumpy.” Draco coughed so he wouldn’t laugh. “Sera knows about the magic world, so don’t worry. She’ll be here any minute.”

She was right. As Draco finished his breakfast, Kapper yelled, “Missus Sera is at the garage door,” from the kitchen.

Rose stood and Draco strained a bit to hear them.

“Sera, come in. You’re up to date with the going ons, right?”

“Interesting turn of events,” Sera laughed. “Hello, Sev. You must be Draco. My, you really do look like Lucius. Are you sure you’re Cissa’s child, as well?”

Draco gaped, trying to stammer out a greeting to this woman who looked really far too much like him. Uncle Severus smirked at him.

“More tea?” Rose offered, pouring him another strong cup of earl grey.

“You…”

“Your aunt, biologically. Seraphina Malfoy by birth, but I have no interest in the name anymore. I go by Sera Creevey nowadays. You may know my children, actually.”

Oh.

_He had discovered a family spell during winter holidays that worked a lot like legilimency but was far easier to cast. It would be perfect to ruin that blasted illegal defense club._

_It was easy, catching Creevey and the youngest Weasley unaware._

_He managed to body bind both of them without a fuss and decided to try Creevey first._

_But the spell wouldn’t catch. He was left stomping in the desolated hallway, ignoring Creevey’s little smirk (that was eerily like his, not that he admitted it then). But it had worked on Pansy and Theodore and that fourth year halfblood when he tested it on them._

_Mavitali, he had hissed at Weasley, finally, deciding to contemplate the Creevey problem later. But while he had been throwing a fit, Creevey had been carefully working through his body bind and he had only seen Weasley’s last few moments—giggling in the library together until Pince threw them out—before Creevey broke his concentration by physically tackling him, knocking his wand way down the hall._

_The scuffle didn’t take very long, and Draco was left under a body bind for the next half hour._

That particular spell was designed so that close blood relations couldn’t be attacked with it. No wonder the spell didn’t catch.

Draco didn’t know what to do besides grimace.

 

Two days later, the Hogwarts express was due to arrive at Kings’ Cross.

Rose and Leo had left an hour earlier. They were having dinner in the city, along with the Creevey family. Uncle Severus had chosen to stay in and eat with Draco.

Both families would return to the Granger house afterwards.

Draco was reading, hearting jumping at each noise that sounded even vaguely like a door opening. Finally, the weird metallic sound of a ‘garage’ door opening vibrated through the walls and Uncle Severus closed his own book to rush to the door.

“Uncle Sev!” he heard her yell, followed by gasping sobs. “I was so worried. Everything…They...”

“I’m safe, Princess. I’m sorry I had to leave you.”

Gryffindor’s Princess. They didn’t know how true the title was, he mused.

_Hermione J. Prince Granger._ That was what had been written in pretty script on the sign outside her door.

The door opened again and more voices joined the reunion. The Creevey brothers—his biological cousins—also cried over their uncle, until Leo finally ushered them all into the kitchen. There wasn’t a real wall between the two rooms, just a counter, prompting Draco to burry down as much as he could.

“Come join us, Draco. We have ice cream.”

“I shouldn’t,” he said quietly, not looking over at the bright kitchen. “I think I’ll go upstairs—.”

“I spent the last month creeping around the Slytherin table to find out you really like banoffee!” one of the Creevey boys said, the sheer level of outrage lacing his voice making Draco look over.

It was the older one who had apparently taken to sneaking around during dinner.

He wasn’t lying either. Draco did very much like anything banoffee and there was a tub of banoffee ice cream (which he never realized existed until that moment) on the counter.

He accepted his ice cream quietly, resolutely ignoring Granger’s persistent gaze.

 

He had excused himself upstairs as soon as he could. Nearly an hour afterwards, as it turned dark, he heard several people come up the stairs.

After a moment the voices disappeared again.

Peeking out of his room, he saw light shining out of Granger’s ajar door.

He had approached the door once, the first day, but her mother had been correct in that there was a ward around it. He was really rather curious after that.

So he slipped across the landing and peered in. For the most part, the room looked like that of a wealthy, magical heir, if a bit smaller. There were panelled walls, heavy drapes around the windows and bed, and a vanity that would have looked right at home in his mother’s chambers. Her walls were even lined with oil lamps, though he guessed they were actually electrical, considering how rhythmically they flickered. There were numerous muggle-looking things laying around, but if he still doubted Granger’s status as a magical heir, he found it harder to now.

Granger and the older Creevey, Colin, Draco thought, sat on the floor, backs against her bed. They were leaning on each other, Granger’s eyes closed, Creevey’s on something behind the door.

Draco straightened and, pretending to have not been staring at them for the better part of a minute, barged into the room, taking care to be as annoyingly intrusive as possible. Granger’s eyes snapped open. For a strange, fearful moment, Draco thought they blazed a faint, dark red before he realized he was being silly.

Sure, her eyes silently promised a dark, painful death, but they always did, whenever she was looking at him.

“You know, a teenage wizard in a teenage witch’s bedroom is usually considered a scandal in polite society.”

“Do you want something, Malfoy?” Granger asked, rolling her eyes.

“Not particularly,” he shrugged, making no move to leave.

Granger rubbed her forehead, bits of dark blue magic sparking off her skin like static. He was surprised, he would expect the Gryffindor Princess to have red magic, though blue was the color of the Princes.

“Leave then? Please,” she muttered through gritted teeth. Magic sparked even stronger on her hands. She looked to be brimming with excess magic; perhaps he really should leave before it discharged accidentally.

As he debated, Creevey reached over and ran a hand over Grangers’. Blue magic, the exact same shade as hers, seeped from his skin as well, mingling until it fizzled a bright white and faded into nothing.

“What did you do?” he asked.

“Discharged it. Controlled discharge,” he shrugged.

Draco’s eyebrows creased. It was hard to get another person’s magic to respond to you, much less get it to do something neatly.

“We’re bonded. My magic is his, his is mine,” Granger said, leaning back with her eyes closed again. 

“Come again?”

“We have a natural bond,” Creevey said. “Not a weak artificial bond, like a marriage bond or something. Our magics are permanently connected to each others’. A permanent flow, even if we’re physically separated.”

Magic loves to connect to itself. A wizard’s magic continuously reached out and establishes flows to other magical people or even powerful objects. But he had never heard of permanent flows that didn’t snap when people were more than a few yards away from each other.

“How?”

“Two powerful muggleborns raised together,” Granger mumbled. “We didn’t establish any flows to anything besides each other for the first year or two of our lives. By the time Uncle Sev came back, our flow were so strong that they could connect over miles. It can stretch between London and Nice, at least, nowadays. Very rarely do bonds form on anyone besides twins, but we were close enough in age and proximity. And had enough magic at such a young age.”

He studied the two of them. Granger seemed to be on the verge of falling asleep, half curled up on Creevey.

Creevey seemed fine with it, though he stared steadily at Draco. He had weirdly pale brown eyes. He didn’t look all that much like a Malfoy, he decided. His hair was a rather pale color, but his skin wasn’t all that light. He even had some freckles.

It was his brother that looked like a Malofy. The younger boy looked almost exactly like Draco had a few years ago: silver-blond hair, nearly translucent skin, grey eyes, and a sharp but fragile looking face structure that Draco detested.

He had silver magic too; Draco could vaguely remember seeing it discharge once. The boy was a Malfoy through and through. It was unsettling.

“Night, then,” he muttered and finally left.


	4. Hermione: Her Afterwards

“Hermione?”

“Huh?” she said fuzzily, shaking the remnants of sleep out of her head. She had hoped that with the war mostly over, she might have been able to get some better sleep, but that was apparently wishful thinking.

“Hermione?” Angelina suddenly appeared. “Harry asked me to get you. Down to the common room, quickly,” Angelina explained before darting back out and down the girls’ tower. Hermione sighed before straightening her wrinkled but clean clothes.

“What is it now, Harry?” she asked, blinking at the bright light of the common room.

“Hermione!”

“Dennis! Dennis, what are you doing here? Where’s Colin?”

Dennis froze inches away from her, face crumpling. She drew him into the hug he had clearly been intending to give her. Her little cousin all but blood. She had missed him so very much during the past year.

“Hermione, did you not hear?” Harry whispered as he approached them. “Colin snuck back in or something. He’s among the fallen. Dennis asked for you, once we told him.”

Harry continued, asking why, but she couldn’t hear him.

Fallen?

_They were finally at the end of the tunnel. Harry was half-passed out in front of her, clearly using his connection to Riddle to see what was happening ahead of them. Suddenly, a vicious pain ripped through her, tearing through her very magic. It was far worse than the cruciatus._

_A soft gasp escaped her lips — she couldn’t get anything more out — as she lost her already precarious stance and landed on her knees heavily. A frozen knife slashed twice along her chest, then it was gone._

_Nothing was left besides a faint headache and a strange numbness. By the time she had reoriented herself, she wasn’t even sure if it had been real anymore and then Harry was climbing upward and her uncle needed her and that was all that mattered._

Her grip on Dennis tightened. Uncontrolled magic shocked through her system.

No.

“Hermione,” Dennis whispered.

For a moment, they were simultaneously holding each other up then she barely managed to not pull him to the ground as she blacked out.

 

_She was warm and content, snuggling with the other baby in her crib. Tickling little sparks erupted between them occasionally, making them coo and giggle._

_Their arms kept bumping ‘cause he was left handed and she was right handed and they had sat on the wrong side of each other. Suddenly, the tips of both of their pencils started glowing, making them squeal._

_“I thought you had to have a wand and say the in-can-ta-tion,” the seven-year old girl commented. Their uncle could only stare. He had thought so too._

_“A magical bond,” he explained months later. “A strong one. Magic always makes flows, but the one between them has become so strong that it’s permanent.”_

_“What does it mean?” she whispered._

_“You’ll always be stronger together than apart.”_

_In her fourth year, she convinced Uncle Sev to teach them the patronus charm._

_A mere two months later, they held each other’s hands in a death grip as twin otters swam around the room. Dennis was happy to run around with the glowing apparitions, and they all — even Uncle Sev — laughed._

_Everyone else was inside, but they were in the backyard, sprawled in the grass, watching the sunset. Tomorrow they would be split up for a long time. The longest since her first year._

_“Together, we’ll conquer the world,” he whispered. She laughed. That was what she told him before his first year. They didn’t do very much conquering that year. More sleeping, really._

_“Together,” she agreed anyways, clasping their wand hands together, a tiny midnight blue spark igniting as magic rushed between them._

_In the back of her mind, she knew he was there. She could feel magic that wasn’t her own being drained, quicker than was truly safe. But then Harry realized where the last horcrux was and Crabbe ignited the fiendfyre and she simply couldn’t stop and think about it._

_They ran together, sprinting through the sunny London park._

_Innocent. Free. Happy._

_“I’ll miss you, Hermione,” Colin panted when they stopped. “But we’ll see each other again. Remember, it’s not your fault. The after-life won’t be too bad anyways. Think of all the people you could meet. Anyways, you’re going to do amazing things, I know it. Don’t let this hold you back. Miss Ella, she met me when I died, she said there are ways for magic to restabilize after your bond mate's death.”_

_His eyes widened and his hands gripped her tighter._

_“Tell everyone I love them, please. Mum and dad, and Dennis—parents. Tell Ginny I’m sorry I—anymore of—Sev’s books and—Christopher his jumper— took—year and it’s— runk.”_

_What?_

_“We’ll conquer the world—Love you forever.”_

_Her hand dislodged from his._

_Everything shimmered white._

 

It was dark when she woke. She could feel the heat of another person next to her and a slow turn of her head put bright red strands into her view.

Ginny.

She sat up slowly, not waking her bed mate. They were in the sixth year dorms, in Ginny’s bed. There were students in most of the other beds as well, mounds in covers illuminated by dappled moonlight. Those who couldn’t be picked up in the hours after the Battle.

The Battle.

The viciousness. The deaths.

Colin’s death.

She expected tears, but it was only numbness. Disbelief perhaps, or maybe the physical emptiness she felt because for the first time she could remember, his magic was no longer thumping along with hers.

Usually, she didn’t even notice the extra heartbeat humming along her skin, but she distinctly felt its absence.

She got up slowly, shakily, like she had been confined for weeks and not hours.

In the dark, she found it hard to identify the other students, but she was able to conclude that they were mostly Gryffindor girls, though a few girls from other houses were curled up with their older sisters.

Even in sleep, many couldn’t find peace. There were tell-tale signs: scrunched up noses, hands tensed around invisible wands. But the only sound was soft breathing.

Not wanting to wake anyone, she leaned against the window next to Ginny’s bed, staring up at the half moon.

“Accio wand.”

The wood was still dirty from the battle. The handle coated in oils and dried sweat, the shaft dusty. Malfoy had taken it after the skirmish at Malfoy Manor, during the chaotic disaster that followed, and returned it to her during the battle.

The grip still felt warm and soothing, but it was diminished. It was mourning too. She wondered if someone had recovered Colin’s wand.

It was her wand’s sibling, of course.

“Expecto Patronum.”

Only a whisper of silver floated out. She had always struggled with casting one on her own and now she didn’t even have a viable favorite memory.

Everything had changed in a second.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading,  
> Ink of Lethe


	5. Hermione: The Days After

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, sorry for the long gap between chapters. Life has been ridiculous.
> 
> I've changed the chapter number to 6 total, but I'll probably end up adding a few more later on. I have some other pieces I want to start working on more intently, however, so who knows when I'll finish up further chapters.

“I’m taking you back home,” Hermione said suddenly.

“Okay. Now?”

“Once you’re done eating. Where were you, again? Edinburgh?”

“South of it, maybe half an hour by car. There’s public buses going back and forth constantly.”

She nodded before they lapsed into silence again. The kitchen was still relatively quiet, with only the sounds of the elves cooking and a few adults whispering as they ate. They were the only students up and about already, as far as they could tell.

Hermione was still exhausted, but laying in bed all day wasn’t going to help either.

The gloom was palpable. The initial elation that came with the end of the battle had come and gone, replaced with the realization that now their world had to be rebuilt. And that building it back up—improving it too—would be a war as difficult as the last one.

“Let’s go,” Dennis whispered as she sighed yet again.

A ministry auror was stationed at the gate, looking simultaneously bored and apprehensive. Hermione handed over her wand, a vague threat burning brightly in her eyes as if to dare him to say anything about her or Dennis The guard flinched when he looked up at them and let them through quickly.

Her wand back in hand, she ignored his curious gaze as they grasped each other and apparated away.

 

“What happened?” she asked. She had been curious since the first time she woke up, but fear tempered her usually constant desire for knowing.

They were on the muggle bus which would take them to the tiny village the Creevey's had been hiding in for the past year. It was nearly empty and they were in the back, far from the driver or any other muggles, but Hermione had carefully cast a privacy charm just in case anyways. 

Dennis wrung the crumpled hem of his shirt in his hands.

“The DA coin called us; of course, I argued with Colin. I wanted him to stay or take me with him. He refused and ended up putting a sleeping charm on all of us since Mum and Dad woke up at some point too. I’m not sure if he apparated or what, but he went. Of course.”

He paused, breathing loudly. “It was morning when I woke up. Eight or nine I think. Mum and Dad were asleep still since, you know, spells always take longer to wear off non-magicals. I took this bus to Edinburgh and a train and two more buses to Agglise. And flew the rest of the way.”

“On your Comet?” Hermione asked, incredulous. He nodded. “The Death Eaters who escaped, they’re probably mostly still in the forests around Hogsmeade. What if one of saw you and decided to take a shot? And what about your parents?”

“I had my emergency portkey around my neck. And I, uh, left them a note.”

I snorted. It was silent for a while before he whispered, “Did you dream, Hermione?”

“What?”

“Did you dream last night? About Colin?”

“Yes, well, maybe not. I don’t think it was exactly a dream.” Hermione paused, remembering the bright, hazy scene. “He asked me to make sure everybody knew he loved them. He said we’d see each other again. One day.”

Dennis drew in a ragged breath, his entire body shaking with the effort. But no tears came. 

“We’re almost there,” he said finally, as a village came into view.

 

“Dennis!”

Auntie Sera was rushing down the street. Tears were dripping over her cheeks as she wrapped Dennis in her arms, dragging me into the embrace after a moment.

“Oh, Hermione! My little darlings. Hermione, dear, you look ragged. Come on, come on.”

She lead us into the little yellow house, through the kitchen—spotlessly clean under her worried restlessness—then into the living room.

“We ate breakfast less than an hour ago, Auntie.”

“You’re scrawny,” she countered bluntly, continuing to set out a tea. 

The kettle whistled and she became busy with that. A minty smell drifted into the still air.

“A note, dear? Really. A wonder you’re still alive.” Her voice was soft and teasing, laced with a silent refusal to think about the implications of Colin not coming home with them. Injured, she was surely telling herself. A concussion, perhaps; they required constant observation for a few days. 

Dennis winced and Hermione bit her lip.

“How bad was it?” she asked.

“Terrible.”

“But the Dark Lord is gone for good?” She was the only one in the family who used any of pseudonyms. Everyone else called him Riddle.

“Harry killed him,” Hermione whispered.

“And Hogwarts? What is happening there now?”

“It has been transformed into headquarters for the Order. And a safe place for anyone despite damages.”

Auntie Sera paused the trickling conversation to pour the tea.

“Mum.”

“Yes, darling?”

“They’re dead.”

The silence was interrupted by tea sloshing over the rim.

“Who?” she challenged, not looking up from the little puddle. It began dribbling towards the edge of the table. She patted it intently, without getting a napkin first, only spreading the liquid further.

“Colin. And Uncle Sev. They were struck down in battle. Last night.” 

“Half-bloods,” she mused. “Did any purebloods die? Or mudbloods?”

They flinched. She laughed and stood up, knocking over a mug in the process. It shattered loudly.

“He should of been a Slytherin like his forefathers. Then he could've claimed his family name,” she declared, rasping. “Or he should of been a muggle. Ignorant and pathetic but safe!” She smacked the window plan with her fist.

“We need to get my dad,” Dennis whispered urgently.

“Go,” she ordered. Dennis nodded and scrambled away as quietly as possible. Hermione drew her wand hesitantly.

Auntie Sera was stalking the length of the room, reminiscent of Bellatrix. A sister-in-law that Sera never met, but Hermione had, in the Malfoy family’s manor, at wand point. She trembled from the memory.

Suddenly she stopped and turned around, eyes glassy and dripping.

“Why did they get involved? My babies were suppose to be muggles. Safe from the strife of the magical world. How did I ruin my family twice over?”

She slid down the wall, the thin, pink silk of her night robe fluttering around her. As she began crying—wailing—Hermione realized Dennis was leaning in the doorway to the kitchen, facing the other way.

“I called my dad, he’ll be here soon,” he explained flatly. “Can we just go back?”

“To Hogwarts? Home?”

“Anywhere, honestly,” he replied.

I finally turned back to glance at Auntie Sera.

She was just standing at the window, forehead against the glass.

“I will tell your father,” she murmured. “You may go, my little darlings. You’d be better off elsewhere for now.”

“Mummy?”

“I love you, darling. And I’m so proud of you all. Hermione, are you okay?”

“I- I could be worse off, Auntie.”

She froze.

“Your magic.”

“My magic?”

“Most bonded die within a year of each other,” Auntie Sera whispered. The last of the color drained from her ashen face. She took unsteady steps until she was close enough to put her hands on my shoulders. “We didn’t think you’d need to know any time soon. I- Sev said your magic can become massively unstable without secondary anchor. Hermione. It’ll spiral out of control and burn you up in the process.”

“I’ll- I’ll find a way. You won’t lose me too, Auntie.”

She nodded, though her confidence was so obviously fake, and turned to Dennis.

“Dennis, go pack. You will be much better off at Hogwarts for now. Your father and I will have to wrap up our life here and reopen the house. It’ll be a mess I’m sure. I assume there are still other students?”

I nodded. “Use magic,” I told him softly. The ministry would be in far too much chaos to notice a trace going off.

Auntie Sera moved slowly to clean up the tea. I spelled the pale stain away.

It took Dennis less than a minute to pack essentials since they had kept suitcases packed to be able to evacuate at a few seconds notice anyways. At the same moment he came down, trunk in tow, a car rumbled to a stop in the driveway.

“Sera,” Uncle Robert shouted as he hurried in.

“It has passed, dear,” she assured him, a weak smile plastered on. “Give your father a hug before you leave. Mirror us often, my dears.”

“Of course, Auntie,” I replied, moving from Uncle Robert’s tight hug to hers. She shook slightly.

Dennis grasped my hand in his right and his trunk in his left.

Pop.

 

“Hermione!”

They had only barely gotten through the gate when they heard the yell. Hermione whipped around, relaxing when she realized Ron had only wanted her attention.

“Hi, Ron!”

“I was wondering if you’d like to go down to the lake with me,” he panted as he skid to a stop a few feet away. His gaze trailed over to Dennis. “Unless you’re busy, of course.”

“I’m fine by myself,” Dennis said. “And there’s plenty of other people around anyways.”

“You sure?” She was skeptical. He shouldn’t be left alone, right? So soon after losing a brother while they were both so young. While they were all so young.

“Go on. I could use some quiet time, to be honest.”

“If you’re sure. Thanks, be safe, Dennis.”

Hermione continued to watch as he walked towards the castle with his magically-lighten trunk.

“Was he, like, your mentee or something?”

“Or something, perhaps,” Hermione murmured. “Come on. It’s nice out today, isn’t it?”

It was nice out. The sky was a shockingly bright shade of blue with a scattering of puffy, puffy clouds that reflected on the lake’s pristine surface. If any horrors had pierced the dark surface last night, they had been swallowed up and left on the lake bed deep below.

Hermione wove around the shrubbery and rocks that dotted the lakeshore, staying in the soft sunlight as much as possible. Her skin was so very pale and tired after the months on the run, moving mostly under the moonlight.

“So, Hermione.”

She glanced back. Ron was a few feet behind her, hands shoved in his pockets.

When he didn’t do anything besides taking a quick glance at the lake then back down at his shoes, she bit her lip.

“Anything happen this morning while I was gone?” she asked weakly.

“A lot of the adults are hidden away planning. Shooed most of the underaged students away, though I think Harry and Ginny are going in and out. Luna too. Neville’s been in the greenhouses, of course.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Uh, Hermione?”

“Yes?”

He scratched his ear, which was a bit pink.

“Will you go out with me?”

It wasn’t rushed. The words were pronounced carefully, each syllable separate from each other. The pink tint spread to his cheeks.

She could feel “yes” bubbling on her tongue, but she couldn’t say it.

Hermione scratched at her right ring finger, the traditional place for family rings. Prince tradition said the heir was to reclaim the ring from Gringotts at dawn, the day after the funeral.

She would be the head of a Noble and Most Ancient House within the week.

Hermione knew that Molly had taught her children the basics of wizarding nobility; the Weasley’s were a Noble House after all, even if their family’s branch was a far offshoot of the main one.

But how did Ron feel about it? Especially after all that had happened...

Ron began shifting from foot to foot.

“Ron, I want you to ask again in a week, if you still want to try then. Okay?”

“A week?”

It was already the second day after the battle, so they would have to have rites within another two days… then she would assume the headship and her long kept secret would no longer be quite so secretive...

“A week,” she repeated. “I’m sorry, but you’ll know why by then. And I think you could be thankful for it.”

He nodded, a brief, confused jerking motion.

She stretched upward and let her lips brush his cheek. “Thank you.”

They stood still for a moment, locked in limbo.

“Back to the castle?” he blurted. She smiled and they filled the mild air with the deep thumping of shoes on packed ground. The sort of noise that was suppose to surround a school.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading,  
> Ink of Lethe


	6. Hermione: Inheritance

“Hermione?”

She turned from the still dark window into the poorly lit room. In the heavy shadows of her bed, Ginny sluggishly sat up, rubbing her eyes.

“Did I wake you? I’m so sorry.”

“No, no,” Ginny muttered, bringing a blanket along with her as she got up. “Can’t sleep?”

Hermione gave her a glance.

“Of course not.” Ginny paused. “How long do you have until you’re suppose to be up?”

“Not very long.” The sky was beginning to turn purple. “I have to be up around sunrise.”

“Let’s get some breakfast then,” Ginny suggested. “The kitchen will still be pretty empty right now. Come on, grab your robe.”

A few minutes later, the house elves had happily served the two girls, both still in pajamas under their robes, with loaded plates of eggs, toast, and strawberries. They ate quietly, content with the continuous clinking of the house elves cooking around them.

“Thank you,” Hermione said, putting her fork down on her mostly empty plate. “For understanding.”

Ginny met her gaze before closing her eyes slowly. Her mouth twisted into a grimace. “You’re exaggerating. We both know I don’t really understand; not yet, anyways. I just can’t be mad. Not with… when I...”

Hermione’s throat clenched.

Hermione went directly from Fred’s funeral to Colin’s. Fred’s had been a relatively lively affair, but Colin’s was dreary. He wouldn’t have liked it much. Hermione and Dennis knew that as the plans were finalized; they thought Auntie Sera and Uncle Robert realized too, but that didn’t stop them from planning the very solemn, muggle funeral.

A vague pain tickled her stomach through the ceremony.

Finally, as speeches ended and the shaking of hands commenced, she couldn’t take it anymore and ran off, collapsing on the stairs of the old church.

She still couldn’t cry, no matter how much she wanted to. She wanted the numbness to go away oh so bad even if that meant drowning in pain, but there was only the crushing emptiness.

“Hermione.”

“Ginny? What…” She trailed off. It was a stupid question. Of course Ginny was there. Ginny had been his best friend for years.

“Colin said once, ages ago, that your mums were friends,” Ginny said slowly, delicately perching herself on the step next to her. “That you guys were friends, yet you were never together. And now, your parents aren’t exactly available, yet you are here. Hermione, I think you owe me a bit of truth.”

Ginny was right, of course. The truth, from her heritage to Auntie Sera’s to the flat out lie about where her parents were, spilled in broken stories until Charlie, frantically looking for Ginny, finally interrupted them.

“Mistress Hermione.” A soft voice interrupted her dark memories.

“Is it time I go back up, Rilly?” The elderly house elf nodded. “Thanks. I’ll meet you up there.”

 

A scant half hour later, Rilly and Ginny had helped Hermione tame her hair into an intricate braid and paint her face with makeup and her back with runes.

The drying ink seemed to tingle; Rilly kept snapping at her to not touch them although she made no move to do so after the first time. Finally, they were dry enough and Rilly brought out her robes. Hermione’s hands began to shake as she removed the protective cover.

She had only worn her ceremonial robes for fittings before. 

Slowly, she managed to undo the silver fastenings. The navy lining flashed with each fumbling slip. 

She smoothed her fingertips over the white silk, cool and rich under her rough skin.

They were relatively plain for ceremonial robes, pristine white with only fine, silver embroidery crawling up from the hem and two silver button on each cuff, emblazoned with their crowned owl crest. She prefered it, however, to some of the gaudier robes she had seen before in the news and magazines. 

Hermione pulled the robes over the slip she had been wearing, biting her lip as the fabric settled in place. Rilly began helping her with the column of fastenings and, once they were secured, Ginny pulled the lacing along the back to gather the fabric.

“You’re very skinny,” she observed, tying the silvery satin ribbon into a bow. The laces had to be tied far closer than was intended to fit Hermione’s waist.

“I’ll be fine,” Hermione said eventually, wandering to stand in front of the full length mirror.

She was too skinny. Not to the point that it was dangerous, but the months on the run had had a noticeable physical effect on her. Her slight frame could be considered pretty, Hermione decided, but it wasn’t her.

She knew it was quite common for witches or wizards to wear their ceremonial robes in public for the first time when they inherited their title, but it felt weird to her that Uncle Sev wasn’t there with her to see it. 

Her eyes fluttered closed with the hazy memories of yesterday’s funeral. It was small, with her family, Dennis’s, and a few of Uncle Sev’s colleagues. The night before, she and Dennis had kept vigil and she only stayed awake through the day because sleep wasn’t kind enough to go ahead and consume her fully.

She had probably slept for a scant six of the past forty-eight hours.

“Oh, master would have been so proud of his little Hermione,” Rilly whispered, gently brushing the back of her hand before pushing a long, thin wooden case into her grasp.

“Thank you,” she murmured, accepting and opening the case. The necklace nestled in the black velvet bed had been considered hers for a long time, but it was yet another item she had never worn for more than a fitting. “Ginny, come over here.”

Hermione lifted out the necklace, a simple silver chain with a single, circular pendant the size of a sickle. It looked like a shiny, perfect pebble with the crowned owl carved onto its face. When she ran a bit of her magic through the silver, however, it split open like a locket, revealing a blue gem magically suspended in a clear, viscous liquid. Light bounced within the stone, reflecting out into a perfect compass rose.

Ginny stared for a moment, her lips parting slightly. “Is that an ocean sapphire?”

“Yeah, it’s the oldest known ocean sapphire in human hands. Almost a thousand years old. The necklace, though, is relatively new.”

Ocean sapphires were coveted by many magical races, but only merpeople knew the secret to sourcing them. Exposure to dry air for long periods of time made them brittle, making this one priceless.

“How do you have one?”

“It’s a family heirloom, given to the founder of the Prince line actually. Richard Prince was born an actual, muggle prince—the son of William the Conqueror—before discovering he was a muggleborn and gave up his title to study magic. The mer clans of England gave it to him to acknowledge his royal status, even if he was out of the line of succession. It was part of their tribute to acknowledge William’s legitimacy.”

“They formally acknowledged the muggle king?” she asked in surprised.

“It was pretty normal for other being species to acknowledge the muggle government as a higher authority over their own. A lot of beings do it even now, though it’s more symbolic. Not that they teach us that here.”

“Mistress, ‘tis not the time for discussion of politics. You must go soon,” Rilly warned, taking the necklace from her hand and clasping it around Hermione's neck with a quick enchantment. “There, Mister Dennis is waiting in the common room for you.”

 

The London sky was beginning to become blue when they arrived in Diagon Alley.

Well over half of the shops had closed over the last few months and only a handful had reopened. Combined with the early time, there were hardly any other people on the streets.

“Ready?” he whispered finally.

“Not really.”

“Gotta go anyways, don’t we?”

Hermione gave him a sardonic smile before tucking her wand into its holster and straightening her cuffs. “Adjust your collar.”

Dennis rolled his eyes but adjusted the navy fabric anyways. He was wearing his formal robes; navy with silver lining and the crowned owl crest embroidered on the breast. She had a virtually identical set in her own closet.

The one magical aspect Auntie Sera and Uncle Robert had allowed in Colin’s muggle funeral was burying him in his set of Prince robes. Hermione had been relieved as, in addition to it being a rather major tradition, it had ensured that his casket was kept closed through the ceremony.

Hermione fought down her resurging nausea at the memory of his white casket being lowered in the ground and covered with flowers. Had it only been three days ago?

She almost jumped at the light touch on her hand, but, realizing it was merely Dennis getting her attention, nodded and began to walk.

The goblins flanking the outer doors eyed her as they ascended the stairs but didn’t stop them from passing. Probably because of the dragon incident, she winced internally. She had owled the bank and got reparations taken care of, but the goblins were still a touch annoyed.

The goblins flanking the closed inner doors didn’t move, but she thought they were looking at them anyways.

She swallowed slowly as they stopped in the middle of the entrance hall. “The House of Prince requests entrance.”

The sound echoed despite the hall being rather small.

Finally, as Hermione began to feel faint, the doors swung open.

“Lady Heiress Prince, you may enter with your second,” the guard on the left announced.

“Thank you,” she muttered as they passed.

The main hall was deserted besides a handful of clothed house elves and three goblins. Two were arguing quietly behind the counter while the third seemed to be waiting for them.

“Lady Heir, do you seek your inheritance this dawn?”

“Yes, Gerr,” she replied, bowing her head. The goblin seemed to almost grin at her use of the goblin title. 

“I am Gerr Galeshin. Follow me.”

He lead them down a hall parallel to the one that would lead down to the vaults. The marble of the main hall continued, but instead of the white, the floors and walls were an oil slick, broken with the occasional crack of white.

Finally, he stopped and pressed his palm to an ebony door that lacked a handle. Hermione heard the mechanisms turning but was startled when the door simply faded away into nothing. 

He gestured for them to go in first.

The box-like room was lined in black stone, a solid dark stretch except for the white runes carved into it, with seven torches of blue flames spread across the three door-less walls. A circular pedestal was raised from the center of the floor.

Hermione stepped up to pedestal and pressed her palms to the surface. Within the dark stone, something liquid seemed to begin glowing and swirling. Feeling another pair of hands on hers, she startled, looking up to meet Dennis’s eyes.

Smiling faintly, he left one of his hands on top of her right one and slipped the other under her left one. The stone seemed to warm and began glowing brighter.

“Good, your uncle taught you two well,” Galeshin rasped as he closed the door behind him. “Though no one expected it would be you two standing here. My condolences for that.”

Ice splashed across her skin and she pressed her palms against the stone firmer.

“Apologies. We will conduct the ceremony then deal with ministry paperwork. Lady Heir? I believe you know what you’re to do.”

The light within the stone pulsed with her breathing while her magic seemed to coil tightly, then push outward, searching.

“Forefathers, foremothers, bless me as I step forward to claim my inheritance. Accept me as your vassal as you did my predecessor and his predecessor before. Recognize my name as Lady Heir Hermione Jean Prince-Granger and give your blessing and validate my claim.”

The words tumbled out of her mouth without her knowing what would come next. It was strange, but vague memories of Uncle Sev describing it filtered across her mind. As she gasped in a breath, a sensation like warm water soaked across her hand although, according to her eyes, the stone remained dry.

“My Lady Grace Prince, as a liege to the House of Prince, I recognize you as head of the House of Prince. I speak for our kin present and past. In our name shall I ever serve.”

The back of her throat prickled as Dennis spoke.

“I accept my inheritance and the title bestowed upon me by trust and knowledge. In our name shall I ever serve. Regium et fidem.”

The warm water seemed to thicken until Hermione could clearly feel the flow of magic through it. Soon, the magic began to soak into her skin and her breath rattled against the surge.

Her vision grew darker at the edges then lighter and darker again.

“Recognize your second, Lady Grace. You must have a secondary.”

“I- Give- I can’t. The magic won’t let me,” Hermione groaned finally.

“You must. Dig into your bloodline, find him,” Galeshin commanded.

She commanded the influx to go further. Dennis should have been recognized as a Prince, she thought, frustrated. He sweared fealty on his eleventh birthday. Even if he hadn’t, he was still a blood-cousin, even if it took going back several generations to find our closest common ancestor. She felt sweat irritating her skin but it was finally working.

“I name you, Dennis Patrick Prince-Creevey, my second, to give counsel and aid. Serve with me, serve the House of Prince.”

“I accept the honor bestowed upon me by trust and knowledge. In our name shall I ever serve. Regium et fidem.”

The light within the stone began to flash unevenly with brighter sparks swimming as if it were tying their hands together despite being completely under them.

“I, Garivark, principal spells man of Gringotts British Bank, declare Hermione Prince as the Head of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Prince with the blessing of the British Ministry of Magic and the Goblin Nation.”

The magic pulsed again, briefly shining so brightly that it overshadowed the blue glow of the room.

Then, Hermione fainted.

 

“Lady Grace, wake up.”

“Hermione!”

“Hmm? Wha- what happened?” Galeshin stepped back and allowed Dennis to prop her up off the hard floor.

“You are weak, Lady Grace, and your house is very powerful. More powerful than I expected, truth be told. It overcharged your system, and you fainted, but you shall be alright within a few hours. Let us to go to the offices and I can get you some water.”

She rubbed the heel of her hand over her forehead then pushed herself off the floor, Dennis steadying her as she stumbled.

“Are you okay?” he asked

“I think so?”

“How do you feel?”

“I- Decent, actually. I think, well, I think it stabilized my magic, Dennis. I’m not sure, we’ll have to experiment and-”

“We will. Come on, for now let’s go settle your account and all that boring stuff.”

He clasped his hands over hers, their magic connecting and sparking between them. She bit her lip but nodded. They’d figure it out, like everything else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is the end for now. I have more drafts and ideas that one day I'll peruse but I am marking this finished and chances are, I won't update for at least a few months as I work on other projects.
> 
> Thanks for following my first published multi-chap fic,  
> Ink of Lethe


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